Sick Leave
by KaylaNorail
Summary: In which Sebastian Moran is ill and Jim Moriarty turns out to be the most annoying nurse in the world. Rated for occasional bad language.


_Operation cancelled. Ill. Cold. Fever. Bed. –Seb_

Sebastian clicked 'send' and threw his phone on the table. He then wrapped his blanket more tightly around his body. Nothing in the whole world could force him to go outside. Not an army, not the FBI, not an UFO invasion. Not even Jim.

He looked around his small, incredibly messy flat; he could see almost all of it from his bed. Okay, he was able to survive a few days without even opening the front door. The basic thing, instant noodles? Check. Bottled water? Check. Beer? Ouch. Not too much. And while it was not vital to his survival, beer would surely make the convalescence easier. But fortunately, his cigarette supply was more than enough.

He began to think what to do during those few days. Eating and drinking weren't very fun activities. Occasional trips to the bathroom also didn't count as entertainment. And he didn't dare to call the police to tell them about yet another bomb— a nonexistent one this time—in a department store. Not after it had disrupted the traffic in the city for two days last time. Jim had found that pretty amusing, but he wasn't the one who had to get home after taking care of a target on the other side of London.

Sebastian exhaled the smoke and glanced at a book lying on the table. He frowned; he would never, _ever_ read anything by Jane Austen. A summary he had read when he was in high school was enough to make him fall asleep. He wondered why he hadn't thrown the book out already and why Jim had ever thought that Seb would like it. The fact that Sebastian had got it as a birthday gift three months early was a whole different matter. But now the dreadful block of paper in hardcover was the only book within reach. Sebastian looked longingly at the bookcase, where he kept his favourite novels by Fleming, le Carré, Greene and Forsyth. He had read all already, some of them more than once, but he wouldn't mind reading them again.

He pondered for a while and finally made the heroic resolution to stand up and actually pick one of the books. However, he didn't even touch the floor with his feet when he heard someone knocking on the door. A very familiar rhythm, which made Sebastian mutter a curse under his nose. There was no point in not answering the door or shouting "go away". Jim had a spare key to Sebastian's flat anyway—although Seb didn't really remember giving him one.

"So, you're ill, Seb?" said Jim in a high-pitched voice, entering the flat. He was his usual cheery, almost childlike self, clothed in an elegant suit nevertheless.

"Yes, I am, and I'm NOT going to kill anyone today," Sebastian said, his voice trembling a bit with a mixture of annoyance and anger. "My hand is quite unsteady when I'm ill, so I'm not going to take the risk of screwing up. Also, I don't feel like going anywhere, so DO NOT, under any circumstances, try to convince me to take my rifle and go shoot people, because I WILL NOT. Is it CLEAR?!"

"Crystal clear."

"Besides, how did you manage to arrive here so early? I sent that text no more than five minutes ago."

"I happened to be nearby. I thought I might pay you a visit anyway. You poor thing!" Jim wailed. He rushed towards Seb and touched his forehead, just before Sebastian jerked backwards.

"Hands off!" he snapped.

"You're feverish indeed!" Jim exclaimed. "Oh, you to be taken care of."

"I can take care of myself. Now, scram."

"Sebby, I just want to help."

"No help needed. Shoo. Or I'll use the rifle."

"No, you won't. Stay in bed. I'll make you some hot tea."

"I don't want tea, I want YOU to LEAVE!"

"Now you're being rude. Well, that's a good thing. That means your fever hasn't affected your brain. You're behaving as usual. Okay, time to sort you out. First—off with this thing!" Suddenly, he snatched the cigarette out of Seb's mouth. Not a wise thing to do.

In the blink of an eye, Sebastian sprang up to his feet and tackled Jim to the floor, still half-wrapped in his blanket.

"Oi." Jim's voice sounded perfectly calm. "Now this was a bit unexpected. Quite violent, even for you."

"Do it again and I'll show you how violent I can be," Sebastian whispered threateningly and reclaimed his cigarette. Seeing how badly crushed and misshapen it got, Seb just threw it on the floor and lighted a new one.

"It's not a good idea to smoke when you're ill," Jim remarked, getting onto his feet and brushing himself down. "By the way, do you have a vacuum cleaner? The floor is horribly dusty."

"I had one, but you took it, saying you needed some parts to build a bomb." Sebastian sat down on his bed. "If you don't like getting a bit dusty, I suggest you go away."

"I can't leave you like that. I know!" Jim snapped his fingers. "I'll cook you dinner!"

Jim could hit Sebastian with a frying pan and he would achieve exactly the same effect.

"What?" Seb asked after a while, just after the cigarette had fallen from his mouth and burnt a hole in his blanket.

"I'll cook you dinner." Jim marched towards the fridge. "Let's see what you've got—oh."

Sebastian picked up his cigarette and smiled. "Something's wrong, Jim?"

"No. Not at all. Nothing's wrong. Because _there's nothing in the fridge_."

"Oh, what a pity!" Seb didn't even try to conceal the sarcasm.

"That means I will have to go shopping."

"No. That means you have to go _home_. I'm not hungry anyway. I ate something half an hour ago. That'll keep me going for quite a while. Now, there's the door. Bye."

"I won't leave you anyway. I'll entertain you. I can read you a book."

"I can read!"

"Oho, we could start with this—"

"NOT THE BLOODY _PRIDE AND PREJUDICE_!"

"I think you got the title a bit wrong."

"I don't care! I don't want to read that rubbish! I don't want _you_ to read it to me either! You read a word out of it and I'll smack you in the face with it!"

"Calm down, Seb. In your current condition any dose of stress could be dangerous."

"Oh, really? Then what are you still doing here?"

"I'm taking care of you."

"You're _driving me nuts_."

"You know what? You're right. Screw _Pride and Prejudice_!" Jim opened the window and threw the book out. "Bye-bye! Oh, I'm sorry. I'm closing it now. Right then. I've got another idea. I'll tell you a story!"

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not."

"You _can't_ tell me a bloody story. I'm not a _child_."

"So what? Do you think adults can't enjoy a good story?" Jim sat on a stool on the other side of the table. "Now relax and listen—"

"DON'T."

"Once upon a time there were two silly pigs—"

"Jim, stop it, please—"

"—one of them was apparently very, very clever, but not really, and had a funny hat. And the other one had a hard time with him—"

"I'm going to shoot you in ten seconds."

"No, you're not. But one day the Big Bad Wolf in an expensive suit came and began to play a game with the pigs—"

"Where's my gun—"

"Hid it. And the Big Bad Wolf finally won the game and burnt the pigs and ate them and then he went fishing with his friend, the Big Brave Tiger. The end!"

"Already?"

"Too short? I can think of another one—"

"NO. No, there's no need. Um, that—that was wonderful. Really. So touching. And what vivid characters. I think—I think I need a while for myself, to, um, think it through."

"Seriously?"

"No, I just think you should leave immediately if you don't want my fist to meet your nose."

"You—you didn't like my story?" Jim's eyes suddenly became watery.

"Not at all."

"You don't mean it—"

"Yes, I do."

"You're only saying it to make me go away—"

"Ye—NO! I mean—yes, but no. I mean—argh! You know what I mean! And I know you. Your crocodile tears don't work on me—oh, come on. The same goes for the puppy eyes."

"Ah, well." Jim wiped the tears with a handkerchief. "But did you like my story anyway?"

"No."

"That's bad. How would you improve it?"

"Add some blood, action and violence. And maybe some chicks. The less they wear, the better."

"I want to keep it G-rated."

"Then don't improve it. All stories for kids end up boring anyway. And they're way too predictable."

"So was _Moonraker_ and you liked it."

"It was anything but boring and predictable!"

"Well, maybe to an average mind like yours. All right, you don't like my stories, so I have to think of something else—maybe we shall play Monopoly?"

"I don't like Monopoly. Listen, really, just go. I want to be alone. I—I'm sleepy!"

"You don't look like."

"But I am."

"You're not."

"I am." Sebastian yawned. "I think I need some sleep." He yawned again to emphasize his made-up sleepiness.

"Well, if you really have to sleep, I shall let you do so—"

"It's a brilliant idea."

"—but first I'll sing you a lullaby."

"NO!"

"You don't seem very sleepy now."

"Jim, tell me, what do I have to do to make you leave?!"

"Recover."

"You're not helping."

"You're ill, Seb. Do you remember the last time you were ill?"

"Yeah, but this time it's not pneumonia. It's just a cold. I'll be fine in a few days. There is nothing to worry about, really."

"What if it gets worse?"

"You're paranoid now, Jim. I'll say it again: I'll be fine. I'll be in touch. In case anything gets worse—which is highly unlikely—you're the first person I will call."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes."

"But I still don't feel like leaving you."

"Jim, please. I don't want to shoot you."

"You won't do it anyway. Remember, I hid your gun."

"I still got a rifle."

For a while they stared into each other's eyes. Finally, the silence was broken by a text message signal. Jim sighed and took his phone out of his pocket. Suddenly, his face lightened up and his eyes gleamed with sheer excitement. He quickly got up and stormed out of Seb's flat without any word of explanation.

Having overcome the initial shock a while later, Sebastian reached out for his phone.

_Just what was that? –Seb_

_Sherlock's out with the deerstalker. I have to finally take a photo of him wearing it! xD –JM_

_I have no words. Find one on the web or cut one out from a newspaper. –Seb_

_It's not the same! I have to be the one who takes the photo! :O –JM_

_And that stupid weirdo detective in his bloody hat is the reason you left me? Some friend you are! –Seb_

_Sowwy! D8 But weren't you the one who wanted me to leave in the first place? ; –JM_

_You know what I mean. –Seb_

_But don't come back. Not in a few days. –Seb_

_I need some peace. –Seb_

_Okay, I won't bother you. I probably won't have much time. At least not today. But maybe I'll pay you a visit tomorrow. ;D –JM_

_DON'T YOU DARE. I'll have found my gun by then. –Seb_

_We'll see. :] –JM_

_And please, take your feet off the table. –JM_

_YOU'VE BUGGED MY FLAT AGAIN?! WHEN?! –Seb_

_;D –JM_


End file.
